Overview

Fire on the Mountains

It begins - as so much does - with storms. Vicious winter storms raised by magic that roll in off the Bay of Catazaar and lash the coast of Spiral. Great waves bound the coast of Apulus, and beat against the cliffs of Ateri. Thick, black clouds race across the horizon, and the frozen winds whip the hail and the sleet into stinging icy missiles. Yet for all their fury, the storms do not touch the thick preternatural fog that cloaks the bay. It undulates like a blanket as the waves rise and fall, but it does not break up. When a bolt of lightning strikes the water, the mist seems to catch fire burning with a crackling effulgence that races hither and yon before fading to nothing.

The waters of Spiral are further infused with life-giving essence. The hail, the sleet, the rain, the salt-water and the fresh; Spring healing magic flows through them all. It ripples across the icy walls of the frozen citadel raised in the hills of Ateri, where a garrison of one-eyed giants watches both east and west for Grendel aggression. Only the most calamitous of wounds are fatal; rarely do any of the soldiers fighting over this mountainous land die save through malice. Both human and orc benefit from the benediction of the life-giving waters.

Fighting past the adventurous Grendel forces in Redoubt, Dawnish forces come to join the campaign in Spiral. The Hounds of Glory charge north and east through Cinon and Ankra (avoiding Screed, and the black behemoth that lurks at it's heart). Alongside the Dawnish march a host of eternal soldiers in crimson-and-gold livery. Sharp ears, spreading antlers, flowing manes, mithril-and-gold chain, and deadly spears. The cyclopean warriors defending the icy citadel curl their lips as the elfin host passes. The knights of Eleonaris glare back at the warriors of Cathan Canaea, not bothering to conceal their anger. Imperial soldiers who fight alongside them can attest to their rage. The Imperial Conclave has declared their Queen to be an enemy of the Empire, after all. Bound by ancient oaths, they must fight when they are called forth. But they do not have to be happy about it. More than one of their human "comrades" is concerned about the legality of what they are doing; the knights of glory are inseparable from their mistress and the power of the ritual that calls them proscribed by law. It is likely the magistrates will investigate the situation that has lead to three thousand of Eleonaris' troops marching alongside those of Dawn.

The knights of glory have ample opportunity to express their anger; the Hounds of Glory charge triumphantly down on the Grendel whenever the opportunity presents itself. The army unleashes its collective wrath against the orcs, seeking victory whatever the cost. The Eastern Sky strives to match their glorious example, engaging in their own overwhelming assault against the defences of Spiral's occupation force.

The Citadel Guard, the sentinels and war-magicians of Urizen, follow close behind. Wrapped in a mantle of supernatural power, they fight almost recklessly taking caluclated risks to gain great rewards. They actively seek to be at the heart of the fray, and despite the danger in which they place themselves, their magic protects them. Wounds that might have been lethal even with the protection of the Spring enchantment turn out to be flesh wounds. Forces that might otherwise be overwhelmed by Grendel counter-attacks hold out until they can be relieved. The Citadel Guard fight valiantly, but inexplicably they suffer not a single fatality in three months.

The Northern Eagle, and the Green Shield can barely keep up with the other three. The Grendel have taken up defensive positions throughout the territory, readying themselves for the hammer blow of Imperial forces, but again and again they are driven back. The Empire does not have everything its own way; the Grendel forces expertly coordinate their defences with supernatural clarity. While their forces are spread out and outnumbered, the orc troops possess an almost instinctive intuition for what their fellows are doing, and their armies move with cool precision to slow the Imperial advance.

Some of the most brutal fighting of the campaign takes place in the valleys below Ossen's Spire in Ankra. At the gateway to Damakhan's Forge the Grendel have prepared makeshift defences and meet the Imperial forces in a pitched battle. At the height of the fighting, with the Citadel Guard in the vanguard, something unexpected happens. Whether some long-forgotten magic is disturbed, or whether it is some trick prepared by the Grendel is unclear, but a great wildfire sweeps across the battlefield consuming orc and human and elfin knight with equal hunger. Thanks to the healing magic in the waters the casualties are somewhat reduced, but nearly a thousand men, women, and orcs are slain or permanently maimed in the eldritch flames. The flames burn for a day and a night, and nothing dampens them. Only when they have run out of fuel do they flicker and die. The next day, the wind is full of choking ash and burnt cinders.

The fire was hot enough to melt stone and even metal, powerful enough to buckle and warp even mithril armour and weapons. Ossen's Spire is consumed by the flames, and there is significant damage to Damakhan's Forge as well. The slopes of Cinion are swept clean of trees and even the dark purple heather is reduced to blackened ruin. Paragons preserve those who were caught in the woodlands when the river of flame poured down the mountainside.

Only the Citadel Guard are untouched by the fire. It marks the end of the battle for Cinion - the Grendel forces flee east toward Ankra, and after a short respite the Imperials follow.

First Cinion falls to the Empire, then Ankra, and the Empire makes significant headway towards recapturing the mithril mines at Ossuary. There are casualties, of course, despite the power of the healing waters. Perhaps two-and-a-half thousand men and women and orcs fall, all told. While their wounds too severe even for the potent healing magic to save them, not all those who fall die immediately. Indeed, some of them do not die at all. Reports from the battlefields and the field hospitals of Northern Spiral speak of pale figures who move among those whose injuries place them beyond help. Wrapped in black or white robes over blackened armour they speak in quiet tones to the dying. Sometimes they offer a swift and painless death. Sometimes, the fallen rise from their deathbeds and accompany the pale figures into the darkness, never to be seen again. The Military Council has given leave to the servants of the Dark-Between-The-Stars to walk their battlefields and choose among the fallen those who might find a place in their mistresses' Grim Legion. The healing Spring enchantment means there are not many for them to choose from ... but there are enough.

Only among the Citadel Guard do these grim harbingers find no opportunity to claim the fallen for their cold-hearted queen. Where the Urizen sentinels march, the heralds turn to watch them, their faces bleak, empty, but above all patient.

Game Information

It begins - as so much does - with storms. Vicious winter storms raised by magic that roll in off the Bay of Catazaar and lash the coast of Spiral. Great waves bound the coast of Apulus, and beat against the cliffs of Ateri. Thick, black clouds race across the horizon, and the frozen winds whip the hail and the sleet into stinging icy missiles. Yet for all their fury, the storms do not touch the thick preternatural fog that cloaks the bay. It undulates like a blanket as the waves rise and fall, but it does not break up. When a bolt of lightning strikes the water, the mist seems to catch fire burning with a crackling effulgence that races hither and yon before fading to nothing.

The waters of Spiral are further infused with life-giving essence. The hail, the sleet, the rain, the salt-water and the fresh; Spring healing magic flows through them all. It ripples across the icy walls of the frozen citadel raised in the hills of Ateri, where a garrison of one-eyed giants watches both east and west for Grendel aggression. Only the most calamitous of wounds are fatal; rarely do any of the soldiers fighting over this mountainous land die save through malice. Both human and orc benefit from the benediction of the life-giving waters.

Fighting past the adventurous Grendel forces in Redoubt, Dawnish forces come to join the campaign in Spiral. The Hounds of Glory charge north and east through Cinon and Ankra (avoiding Screed, and the black behemoth that lurks at it's heart). Alongside the Dawnish march a host of eternal soldiers in crimson-and-gold livery. Sharp ears, spreading antlers, flowing manes, mithril-and-gold chain, and deadly spears. The cyclopean warriors defending the icy citadel curl their lips as the elfin host passes. The knights of Eleonaris glare back at the warriors of Cathan Canaea, not bothering to conceal their anger. Imperial soldiers who fight alongside them can attest to their rage. The Imperial Conclave has declared their Queen to be an enemy of the Empire, after all. Bound by ancient oaths, they must fight when they are called forth. But they do not have to be happy about it. More than one of their human "comrades" is concerned about the legality of what they are doing; the knights of glory are inseparable from their mistress and the power of the ritual that calls them proscribed by law. It is likely the magistrates will investigate the situation that has lead to three thousand of Eleonaris' troops marching alongside those of Dawn.

The knights of glory have ample opportunity to express their anger; the Hounds of Glory charge triumphantly down on the Grendel whenever the opportunity presents itself. The army unleashes its collective wrath against the orcs, seeking victory whatever the cost. The Eastern Sky strives to match their glorious example, engaging in their own overwhelming assault against the defences of Spiral's occupation force.

The Citadel Guard, the sentinels and war-magicians of Urizen, follow close behind. Wrapped in a mantle of supernatural power, they fight almost recklessly taking caluclated risks to gain great rewards. They actively seek to be at the heart of the fray, and despite the danger in which they place themselves, their magic protects them. Wounds that might have been lethal even with the protection of the Spring enchantment turn out to be flesh wounds. Forces that might otherwise be overwhelmed by Grendel counter-attacks hold out until they can be relieved. The Citadel Guard fight valiantly, but inexplicably they suffer not a single fatality in three months.

The Northern Eagle, and the Green Shield can barely keep up with the other three. The Grendel have taken up defensive positions throughout the territory, readying themselves for the hammer blow of Imperial forces, but again and again they are driven back. The Empire does not have everything its own way; the Grendel forces expertly coordinate their defences with supernatural clarity. While their forces are spread out and outnumbered, the orc troops possess an almost instinctive intuition for what their fellows are doing, and their armies move with cool precision to slow the Imperial advance.

Some of the most brutal fighting of the campaign takes place in the valleys below Ossen's Spire in Ankra. At the gateway to Damakhan's Forge the Grendel have prepared makeshift defences and meet the Imperial forces in a pitched battle. At the height of the fighting, with the Citadel Guard in the vanguard, something unexpected happens. Whether some long-forgotten magic is disturbed, or whether it is some trick prepared by the Grendel is unclear, but a great wildfire sweeps across the battlefield consuming orc and human and elfin knight with equal hunger. Thanks to the healing magic in the waters the casualties are somewhat reduced, but nearly a thousand men, women, and orcs are slain or permanently maimed in the eldritch flames. The flames burn for a day and a night, and nothing dampens them. Only when they have run out of fuel do they flicker and die. The next day, the wind is full of choking ash and burnt cinders.

The fire was hot enough to melt stone and even metal, powerful enough to buckle and warp even mithril armour and weapons. Ossen's Spire is consumed by the flames, and there is significant damage to Damakhan's Forge as well. The slopes of Cinion are swept clean of trees and even the dark purple heather is reduced to blackened ruin. Paragons preserve those who were caught in the woodlands when the river of flame poured down the mountainside.

Only the Citadel Guard are untouched by the fire. It marks the end of the battle for Cinion - the Grendel forces flee east toward Ankra, and after a short respite the Imperials follow.

First Cinion falls to the Empire, then Ankra, and the Empire makes significant headway towards recapturing the mithril mines at Ossuary. There are casualties, of course, despite the power of the healing waters. Perhaps two-and-a-half thousand men and women and orcs fall, all told. While their wounds too severe even for the potent healing magic to save them, not all those who fall die immediately. Indeed, some of them do not die at all. Reports from the battlefields and the field hospitals of Northern Spiral speak of pale figures who move among those whose injuries place them beyond help. Wrapped in black or white robes over blackened armour they speak in quiet tones to the dying. Sometimes they offer a swift and painless death. Sometimes, the fallen rise from their deathbeds and accompany the pale figures into the darkness, never to be seen again. The Military Council has given leave to the servants of the Dark-Between-The-Stars to walk their battlefields and choose among the fallen those who might find a place in their mistresses' Grim Legion. The healing Spring enchantment means there are not many for them to choose from ... but there are enough.

Only among the Citadel Guard do these grim harbingers find no opportunity to claim the fallen for their cold-hearted queen. Where the Urizen sentinels march, the heralds turn to watch them, their faces bleak, empty, but above all patient.